


Entrapment

by Kantayra



Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [13]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Competence Kink, F/M, Jealousy, Lover's Spats, Makeup Sex, Monologue, Pegging, Punishment, The Master Has Issues, Traps, Traps as Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25032139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: While the Twelfth Doctor was forced to concede that conventional lover’s spats didn’t involve lasers, death traps, and the liberal use of strap-ons, they sure would be a lot less fun that way.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592659
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	Entrapment

The Doctor groaned when the entire room lurched. Groggily, he blinked away the vestiges of unconsciousness – a drug? It must have been a drug – and focused upon his current predicament.

He had no idea where he was. It tasted a bit 92nd century, but there was also an unmistakable bouquet of alternate universe, combined with a rich swirl of Big Bang. In any case, he was clearly in a small prison cell: a prison cell was a prison cell, no matter how improbable the time-space continuum around it.

The Doctor sat up on his small, rickety cot and examined the cold grey walls around him and the darvanium metal door. His captor was taking this whole imprisonment thing very seriously, it seemed.

And then, of its own accord, the room lurched around him again. He jolted up off the cot in surprise as the walls on either side of him moved inward another inch.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” The Doctor looked up and around, checking for security cameras to direct his complaints to. “This is the oldest cliché in the book!” He didn’t spot any surveillance; nevertheless, he had no doubt Missy was watching him.

Instead of any kind of explanation as to what he might have done to provoke this pique, the walls lurched in another inch. “What?” he demanded of his unseen captor. “Were you just _waiting_ for me to wake up before setting off your attack walls? No point in threatening my life before you could see the existential dread in my eyes?”

Still no answer, but as if to prove his point, the walls cheerfully inched their way ever inward, one inch on the minute, every minute, it seemed.

The Doctor scrambled to examine all the walls as quickly as he could, while he did the maths in his head. “Twenty minutes until this cell becomes uncomfortably cosy; thirty until I’m some kind of meat paste. Is that it?” he thought aloud.

He paused and let out a contrite sigh.

“You’ve made your point,” he informed his unseen watcher. “I won’t ask what I’ve done to upset you, because I’m sure in your warped mind, I’m supposed to somehow intrinsically _know_. Due to our great rapport, no doubt. But all of this would be a lot more effective if you just _told_ me these things, so that we could talk about them like reasonable people.”

The walls jolted in twice as far in response to _that_.

The Doctor sighed. “Right, sorry. Forgot you weren’t a reasonable person. So, what then? You want to watch me squirm? Make me jump through hoops for your amusement?” He paused. “Fine, stupid question. Of _course_ you want me to jump through hoops for your amusement.”

He turned his attention back to doing so. “I know you,” he said aloud as he worked out in his head how to escape his prison. “There will be a way out. You don’t want me _dead_ , just grovelling in abject apology at your feet.”

The walls were solid. The door was impenetrable, with the hinges on the other side. It was deadlocked. There was, however, a vent high up on the wall opposite the cot. The Doctor scowled up at it. “Why do I have the feeling that that vent is designed to be _just_ wide enough for me to squeeze through with maximum discomfort?” He sighed. It was also too high to reach, by a good five feet.

The Doctor tried the cot, as the walls gave another jolt. The frame wasn’t quite as wobbly as the legs, but the Doctor didn’t particularly fancy its ability to hold his weight for long. “Is this how I’m supposed to get up?” he asked, rather rhetorically at this point.

He tried it anyway: upended it, propped it against the wall, and tried to climb up. As expected, the frame gave way and broke apart into useless segments, sending the Doctor tumbling back down right onto his arse. “I can _hear_ you laughing at me,” he called out into the void, because he had zero doubt that she was.

The walls shuddered as they moved another inch inward. They were getting quite close now, not unlike being inside a wide chimney. He could easily put his feet against one wall and press his hands into the far wall. He tried it out and found, indeed, that he could shimmy his way up in this thoroughly undignified manner.

“Ah, silly me,” he said. “I have to _give in_ to your trap, surrender to it. Of course, that’s the only way to make it out alive. Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak? No, scratch that, stupid question: you _named_ yourself after a control freak. _Mistress_.”

He crawled his way up, using the decreasing gap between the walls to pull himself ever higher. “And,” he said when the walls jolted inward again, “of course climbing gets easier the further the room presses inward. So very generous of you. In case you’re wondering: I love what you’ve done with the walls, too. Rough enough not to slip, but that also makes them scrape off the skin of my fingers. Which, yes, is indeed annoyingly painful, thank you.” Amidst his verbal vent, he got up to the actual vent; by that point, his arms were straining from the effort.

He managed to get himself propped up precariously so that his back was pressed to the far wall, with his feet on either side of the grate, and studied it.

The grate was attached to the wall with simple screws.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Is this some form of sarcasm?” he asked the room, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. The walls jolted in what he interpreted as amusement while he took an embarrassingly long time to find the proper setting. “Okay, fine, so I don’t use the actual screwdriver setting very often. Point well taken. Aha!” he said upon finally finding the loosen setting.

He let the four screws fall to the floor below in turn, and with the final one, the grate as well. He peered into the opening before him warily. “Surprise, surprise: that’s going to be tight, although not – I suppose – as tight as this cell will soon be…”

He glanced up overhead, just in case that was where the camera was, and demanded, “Is all this _really_ necessary?” Still no response, no noticeable camera, no nothing.

Resignedly, the Doctor adjusted his position so that he could put his arms into the ventilation shaft. It took some shuffling and kicking of his feet against the wall, but he got his head inside and then – a tight wedge, indeed – his shoulders. At that point, he was able to pull himself along through the vent on his elbows until finally, with one last kick against the wall, he was free of his cell and entirely within the ductwork.

He grunted at his latest predicament. “You might think,” he continued to rant at his captor, because it wouldn’t do for her to think that he’d _forgotten_ her, “that this would be an improvement. Except, of course, for the fact that it’s now pitch black, claustrophobic, and far too hot.” He crawled forwards on elbows, pushing himself along with his toes as best he could, trying not to panic each time it seemed that his shoulders were stuck in a joint between the ducts. His running commentary helped him not to dwell on all that. “How on Gallifrey are you watching this part? I assume you still have cameras on me, although _how_ I’ve no idea. It’s not like they can fit in here. And there’s no light. What are they? Heat-sensing? Artron-sensing?”

He let out a deep breath and announced to the thin air, “I hope you’re enjoying this, because I can assure you that I’m _not_.”

Still no reply. Oh dear. She might actually be _angry_ this time.

He had no idea where he was going, of course, but after what felt like far longer than the six minutes his temporal sense informed him that it actually was, he came upon an intersection. He rested his shoulders in the wider area where the ducts met. “Just give a minute,” he requested, “to decompress. Literally.”

He considered his next steps while he rested. By feeling around blindly, he determined that the intersecting duct was wider than the one he currently occupied. “So,” he concluded, “I’ve just come out of a side shaft, and this is the main. That should mean that one end goes to the source of airflow and the other to the outflow vent. I say ‘should’ because you’ve obviously designed this whole place to torment me, so I can’t really expect it to obey the laws of physics or sanity, can I? ‘All roads lead to Missy’, if I’m guessing correctly?”

The Doctor turned in the direction of the air. “In case you missed it, this is a sign of repentance on my part. Facing my fate rather than trying to squirm out of it or run away. Heading straight for the heart of the beast. I hope you appreciate the effort, not that there’s much likelihood of that, is there?”

As the Doctor crawled his way along the duct, he became aware of a sound behind him. At first, he thought that, because the passage was wider and he was moving faster, he was just making more noise as he went. But then a clang was unmistakable. He paused and asked, “Was that you?” hopefully. But no such luck.

Instead, he heard something large, breathing, and quite possibly gelatinous oozing along the vents not too far behind him.

“Oh no,” he groaned, and immediately started crawling faster, as fast as he could go. “No, no, no. When I said ‘heart of the beast’, I was being metaphoric, not making _requests_. Isn’t this excessive, even for you?” he called out to no one, even as he heard the heavy, predatory breathing behind him closing in.

He scrambled wildly, more frantic flailing than proper crawling, and then there in front of him was suddenly the light of another grate. Perhaps he’d repented enough to earn himself a reprieve. Or maybe there was some fresh new hell beyond.

In any case, the Doctor rammed himself through the grate at full force, the sound of the ravenous beast behind him hot on his heels. He felt one mucous-coated tendril wrap around his ankle just as he fell into the outside room. The drop down to the floor pulled him free of the beastie’s clutches but also knocked the breath right out of his bypass.

He didn’t have a moment to spare for the pain, however, because _some_ survival sense or sheer good luck warned him just in time. He dodged to one side right as the lasers in the room fired at the spot where he’d landed. He caught a wild glance at what looked like a security system tied in to pressure-sensitive tiles on the floor before he dove instinctively beneath the nearest desk.

There, he breathed deeply and took stock of his situation. “Ow,” he said. “Thanks, I hate it. You do know that lethal defences are more appropriate to a bank vault than a magisterial office?” That, at least, was what the room looked like. “You’re losing points for historical inaccuracy.” Even that didn’t get a response, and criticism to her traps usually did. Apparently, he still didn’t done enough to appease her, so he carried on. “But, of course, design logic need not apply when Missy is making Her Point,” he grumbled.

The monster, at least, had the common sense not to follow him, although its slimy, neon-purple tentacles waved hopefully out at him from the vent above. No going back that way obviously.

“All of this is pointless, you know,” he called out to the room at large. “I know you won’t kill me. What would you do for fun then?”

A laser shot right by his cheek, the heat from it searing his skin and blinding him for a moment.

Ah. That hadn’t been the best tactic, then.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll play it your way.”

The desk over him was a rather sturdy affair. “This part is well done,” he conceded ruefully. “Just the sort of massive, over-imposing monolith that only a truly insignificant and insecure middle-manager would choose. I’m impressed with your attention to detail.” The Doctor squeezed as far back into the gap beneath it as he could and then lifted up slowly, carrying the desk atop him like a protective tortoise-shell.

Each time he moved from one tile to the next, the lasers fired on him in response, blasting off a chunk of wood with every step. Fortunately, the desk was ridiculous enough that a sizeable portion of it was still intact by the time he reached the door.

“And,” the Doctor said without surprise, “naturally, it’s locked with a keypad on the inside. You know, if I’d ever doubted that you were the perpetrator in all this, this would be a dead give-away. There is, of course, absolutely zero reason that an official’s office would have a key-code lock to prevent someone from getting _outside_. But without it, you wouldn’t get to sit back and ogle me while I flex my mental muscles trying to open the damned thing, now would you?”

The silence sounded a bit caught-out, if he wasn’t entirely mistaken.

“Oh, don’t act so _scandalized_. I know you think you’re being subtle,” he informed the security camera, “but you’re really not.”

Still only silence in answer. He hoped it was anticipatory silence now, though; he’d wriggled out of enough of her traps that she was undoubtedly growing impatient for him.

He tried his sonic on the door. “And, just because I _know_ you’ll mock me for this: if I _didn’t_ try it first, you’d make it so that this is the one time it would actually _work_ , just to be perverse. Ah, and now since I’ve tried it, it _doesn’t_ work. A bit of a catch-22 there. That’s quite lovely, really. A nice little paradox just to shake things up, keep it fresh.”

With that out of the way, he started testing various key codes. He managed to get the sonic rigged into the feedback system fairly quickly, which gave him some useful data in narrowing down the list of possibilities.

“Let me guess,” he said, “the passcode will be something along the lines of, ‘The Doctor is a…’ choose your favourite insult.” He frowned at the information the sonic passed back to him. “No? Not a phrase? What is… A numerical string? What’s _that_ about? Are you just being random, or…?” He froze and sighed. “A numerical string in the form of time-space coordinates. Oh, come on, now. You know that’s not fair. I’ve always been hopeless with dates.”

Silence.

“I honestly have no idea. Give me a clue? It’s not going to be any more fun for you to watch me guess wildly than it will be for me to do it.” And then he brought out the big guns: “ _Please_?”

Hesitantly, the space coordinates filled themselves in.

He glowered at them. “That’s on Gallifrey. The Capital, obviously. And then… Okay, I confess, I’m rubbish with locations, too. Did you know that all this time, I’ve just guesstimated my landing coordinates and… Well, of course, you’ve noticed. Right. I suppose I can’t complain about doing a little maths. That would put me… Oh, that’s the Prydonian Academy, isn’t it? Must be.”

There was no confirmation or denial.

“Well, I’m fairly certain that’s correct. There isn’t anything else of significance that I can think of in that quarter of the Capital. Now, what would the date be? We were in each other’s company daily there for a good century. I suppose you could have picked any date, but that would be boring. It’ll be a date of significance.

“Of course,” he sighed, “that means I have to guess which dates _you_ think are significant… Looking into the untempered schism?”

He tried it.

“No. I’m not overly fond of that one, either. Graduation? Well, _your_ graduation, at least. I suppose my retests didn’t trickle in until a few months later.”

Again no luck.

“No, that was a poor guess. It’ll be something shared between us.” He paused. “If it’s the time we sneaked thermogenic tubeworms up Borusa’s robes, I’ve completely forgotten the date. Some time in our…twenty-fourth year? Maybe?”

The date didn’t present itself, so he concluded it wasn’t that. Too bad. Fond memories, there.

“It can’t be our first time,” he said wistfully. “Due to the temporal fissures, that occurred on forty-three separate dates in each of the alternate realities.” A fond smile curled at his lips. “I still maintain that that was an exceptionally clever trick on my part for getting a third date.”

As if Missy agreed and was feeling nostalgic as well, she gave him the year in the date coordinate.

“Oh!” he said in surprise. “That’s early. Earlier than I was guessing. We would’ve been just time-tots then. Our first year? Oh, oh, oh, it’s going to be our initiation ceremony, isn’t it?” He grinned to himself. “That was a good day. I couldn’t believe my luck when we were assigned to room together. I confess, I had a bit of a crush on you even then. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn I rigged that.”

He entered the proper date, and the lock on the door turned green.

He frowned. “Come to think of it… Did _you_ rig the room assignments?”

Then, however, the door opened.

A wall of solid armour stood outside, blocking his way. More accurately: a wall of solid armour and rhino.

“Ah, yes, nostalgia time is over. Back once more unto the breach!” He turned to address the Judoon patrol leader with a rakish grin, “Hello. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to step aside and let me pass?”

“The criminal will return to his cell,” the Judoon informed him, breathing down his neck in a way that was really rather reminiscent of good old Tentacly from the air ducts.

“Criminal?” he asked the security camera. “That’s going a bit far, _surely_? And here I thought we were well on our way to making up. It’s been entire _minutes_ since you actively tried to kill me. Don’t ruin all our good progress now!”

“Comply,” the Judoon demanded, impervious to his pleas.

The Doctor groaned. “What could I possibly have done to earn this bureaucratic headache?” He then proceeded to shout out as many syllables with mid-back vowels as he could think of. To no avail, alas, because he promptly found himself frog-marched down a long corridor, heading towards what was obviously some sort of control room or command centre or…

“Inside, prisoner!” the Judoon shouted, and shoved him through the door.

The Doctor fell to his knees on the floor, and was about to spin back around on the Judoon and give it a piece of his mind, when he saw: “ _You_!”

Sprawled sideways over the arms of a very comfy-looking captain’s chair, Missy yawned and kicked one dangling booted foot so that the chair swivelled away from the monitor screens against the far wall to instead face the Doctor. “Me,” she agreed with a smug smile that had far too much tooth to be entirely friendly.

Apparently, he’d been right after all: they _were_ well on their way to making up.

The Doctor took one moment to experience a moment of pure exasperation. There simply was no other response to such blatant provocation.

“Ooh,” Missy squealed in delight, “just look at those eyebrows go! Glower away, dearie! Tell me, did you enjoy my little trap? Are you actually – be still my beating hearts – _irate_?”

The Doctor sighed when her wording cued him in to the source of her displeasure. Of _course_. He sometimes forgot that he was in a relationship with an absolute lunatic. “Don’t tell me _that’s_ what brought this all on,” he groaned. “Would it kill you, just for once, not to be so oversensitive?”

“ _Oversensitive_?” Missy gasped in outrage, like _she_ was the one wronged. She brushed aside one perfect crocodile tear with a formidable talon of a nail. “I don’t know how you can still say such hurtful things.”

“All I _said_ —”

“Oh, I _remember_ what you said, _believe me_ ,” she drawled. “‘Oh Missy,’” she quoted in a mocking lilt, “‘isn’t this such a _clever_ trap?’” She moaned out the word ‘clever’ in an explicitly pornographic way, complete with a little pelvic thrust.

The Doctor licked his lips once quickly. “I didn’t say it _like that_!” he insisted. “It was more of a: ‘Isn’t this a clever trap? I’m so enjoying working my way out of it with you!’” He flashed her a smile that was supposed to be charming but he’d been well informed was actually terrifying. Fortunately, Missy liked terrifying.

Missy glared at him in response. “You were enjoying _another_ villain’s trap!” she accused. “Admit it!”

“I was enjoying _your company_ , while coincidentally in another villain’s trap at the time!” he defended his honour.

Missy turned her head the other way and crossed her arms over her chest in a huff.

“I _promise_ you,” he said, “I’d rather escape from your trap any day.”

A harrumph.

“No one lays a sexier trap, not even close.”

A deliberate sniffle.

“Why would I ever even look at another villain’s trap, when yours are so challenging? It was just a slip of the tongue, poor phrasing. I didn’t _mean_ it,” he pleaded.

“Well…” Missy conceded slowly. She always had been a sucker for begging. “Did you _really_ like my trap?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.

“It was absolutely infuriating. I wanted to strangle you.”

“Promise?” she asked hopefully.

“I can always tell when a trap’s yours,” he promised, “right from the get-go. From those little _personal_ touches you always add in. Pure artistry.”

Missy studied him with an absolutely indecipherable expression for a moment, before her face brightened into a feral grin. “Look at you,” she fondly, “catching on for once. You know, the other mes all insisted: ‘It’s impossible; the Doctor can’t be trained!’ But I never gave up. I had faith that you’d eventually learn.”

“And now I’m supposed to thank you for teaching me the error of my ways?” the Doctor asked sarcastically.

Missy pouted at his tone. “Cheeky, cheeky,” she chided him. “I don’t suppose I can train _that_ out of you.” She considered for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose I want to, either.”

“Oh, right. My most heartsfelt thanks for that.”

“In fact,” Missy informed him in a confidential whisper, rising from her chair and moving to sit on the control panel in front of him instead. She draped her skirts primly about her legs as she did so, “I think I quite enjoy it when you’ve been bad.” Her tongue flicked out to lick her teeth in hungry anticipation.

The Doctor gulped and adjusted his trousers. “How bad?” he asked, and tried his hand at sneaking his fingers up under her skirt.

“Absolutely _dreadful_ ,” she informed him, eyes darkening with arousal.

His hand managed to get itself lost irretrievably in her petticoats. “Is there a reason that you always need to wear this much fabric?”

“Au-then-ti-ci-ty,” she over-enunciated. “Well, that, and I get to watch you fumble about ineptly. You do do it so splendidly.”

With perfect timing, his hand recovered its way. “So sorry to disappoint, then,” he countered, and flung her skirts up around her waist. As if to spite him, her undergarments beneath were a hopelessly overly-complicated jumble, even for Missy. Was that…some sort of hanging buttress holding her pants up?

Missy giggled at his perplexed expression. “You’ll have to _earn_ you way back into my good graces,” she informed him.

He bit his lip before he could ask if he hadn’t done just that when escaping her trap. It seemed he was, indeed, capable of learning. Instead, with a concentrated frown, he set about to untying ribbons and unfastening clasps and unwinding pointless lacy frilly things. “Oh, come on now,” he held up what appeared to be a Mobius strip shaped out of silky white fabric, “now I _know_ you’re inventing undergarments solely to frustrate me!”

She merely leaned back on her elbows, looking right at him with obvious mirth, and didn’t lend a helping hand in the slightest. As if this were her greatest trap yet, and she was enjoying the view.

Finally, impossibly, the last of the delicate fabric came free with a bit of a tear that made Missy moan with approval. The Doctor raised one eyebrow at what was inside.

He would have bet quite a good number of his lives that she hadn’t been wearing that dildo when he’d been unwrapping her. He would have noticed. It was, after all, a rather large contraption. Often, she favoured antiquated enhancements for that classic look and feel, but this one was state of the art. The giant cock was coloured and textured like flesh and, when touched, twitched with anticipation the way a real one would. Missy hissed with pleasure and squeezed her eyes shut like a contented feline. Apparently, it had telepathic feedback circuits into her pleasure centres as well. Hurrah for science.

“Well?” Missy demanded, cracking one of her eyes open to peek out at him.

“Well.” He coughed.

“It’s your punishment, darling. You’ll have to own up to it sooner or later,” she said dryly.

He gulped and defabricated himself before climbing up onto the desk above her with his knees straddling her hips.

“Good boy,” she taunted him, just as he sat down.

He’d observed it earlier, but it bore repeating: the dildo was very large. Gruellingly so. He hissed as it first breached him and paused, still with only the head stretching him, before he took a deep breath and began to sink down onto it.

All the while, Missy leaned back on the desk on her elbows and watched him, unmoving.

He raised himself up on his knees an inch, just for that cusp of relief, and the slowly slid back down her shaft. He got lower this time, a scant few inches, before he had to stop again.

“I do so admire your resourcefulness,” Missy confessed, “your _determination_.”

The last was said as he forced himself to relax and take in another two inches. Almost to the base now, he was nearly there.

“And you look so pretty when you grimace like that,” she said with a wistful sigh, “like I’ve got so deep that you’ll never be rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t,” he hissed, relaxed, and finally sank down the rest of the way so that he was fully seated in her lap, straddling her hips, “dream of it.”

One edge of Missy’s lips turned upwards in a lopsided, fond smile. “Oh, you charmer, you! Go ahead and claim your forgiveness.”

“I thought this was my punishment?” he asked, as he began to ride her, feeling the uncomfortable, burning stretch soothe slowly into pleasure at the feel of her moving inside him.

“For you, my dear, they’re the exact same thing. Don’t you know that by now?” Missy informed him, looking far too pleased by this fact.

As he clenched around her and felt his orgasm swell, he couldn’t deny it. He let out a great gasp of ecstasy, felt himself tense at the precipice, so very close but just lacking that _one thing_.

“Tada!” Missy said, and – ridiculously – bopped the tip of his cock once with her index finger, right on the head.

She knew his body very well. The sudden touch, after she’d kept her hands entirely off him so far, was _exactly_ what he’d needed. He came rather stupidly in response, spasming around her in aftershocks, until finally the pulsing of his inner muscles around her set her off too, and she came messily inside him.

“A truly _remarkable_ anatomically accurate strap-on,” he panted against her in response to that, as he came down.

Missy hummed to herself as if in displeasure and flicked a switch at her hip that caused the whole thing to rapidly deflate. “I don’t know. You don’t think that was _too_ easy? Should I go for a larger model next time? They make one with these little grasping spines, so that there’s literally no escape.”

The Doctor whimpered at the thought.

“Knew you’d like that.” She grinned with delight and let him sink into the warmth of her arms for a few glorious moments of absolute bliss.

Missy being Missy, she couldn’t just let him _enjoy_ the afterglow, of course.

“However…” she dragged out slowly.

“Oh, what now?” the Doctor sighed wearily, and propped himself up with one arm to look down at her.

“There is that little problem—”

The Doctor scrambled mentally. Oh no, what had he done _now_?

“You were very bad and took your punishment _so beautifully_ ,” she said in what he was obviously supposed to take as praise, “but…”

“But?” he repeated warily.

“I feel that I was very bad, too. _Terrible_ , really. And you haven’t punished me _at all_ yet!” She pouted. “Isn’t that what relationships are supposed to be about? Compromise and give-and-take and deep theological discussions about the proper default orientations of toilet seats?”

The Doctor considered her carefully and tried very hard not to crack a smile. “I suppose…” he began slowly, drawing out her anticipation.

“Yes?” She hissed out the ‘S’ in a long drawl, looking up at him hopefully with hooded eyes.

“I suppose,” he repeated, to her obvious annoyance, dragging things out, “that you’ll just have to be punished, as well.” He reached over for his discarded belt and slid it slowly, methodically through his fingers. “Until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Whee!” Missy clapped with glee, and took an exceptionally long and satisfying time to learn her lesson, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Last time, things worked out so that Missy didn't get a chance to peg the Doctor; I figured I owed her in this one. Fair's fair, after all!


End file.
